


A Quartet For The End Of 2020 - GG

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The first three of these short stories take place during the war, the fourth shortly after, following 'Duration Plus Six Months'.   The first story refers, in one spot, to the creation of the Common Room mural from 'Silk Sheets and Caviar Are Only The Beginning (Chapter 4 - Just Like Being Outdoors), as well as, briefly 'A Walking Tour of Scotland in the Springtime'.  The last story also refers to events from 'Deal-Breaker' and 'The Fence'.
Kudos: 2





	1. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat Went To Sea

"You are joking, of course," Actor exclaimed, appalled, looking at the small sailboat depicted in the hand-tinted picture lying in front of him.

It was big enough to have a cabin, that so-called 'yacht', but it could in no way have been called spacious. If it 'slept four', as the small description printed underneath claimed, it would be only in a remarkable degree of intimacy and totally unacceptable discomfort; nothing else would have been possible. 

The leasing advertisement was old, from the looks of it - 'compact yet spacious sailing yacht, sleeping four, though perfectly capable of being manned by two with no more than moderate experience at sailing. The perfect getaway for the spirited soul seeking a short adventure.' 

{"Perfect getaway indeed! Perhaps, if we are lucky, it will no longer be available and something else, something far more suitable, could be obtained for this odd mission we are being sent on."} 

Well, he and Garrison anyway. Heaven knows that vessel would never have supported the whole team with any degree of safety. Perhaps one other, but no more, no matter what that description claimed. In any case, it was irrelevant, since it was imperative there only be two on board when they met up with that envoy carrying the documents to be exchanged for what THEY would be carrying.

Yes, Actor had been sailing many a time, but far more often on what truly could be called a yacht, something capable of carrying the owner and invited passengers in addition to a crew of at least six, most likely more - not this miniature vessel masquerading under that name. Only under dire circumstances had he ever been willing to set foot on something that insubstantial in appearance; a few of their exits after one of Garrison's missions came immediately to mind, and most of those had at least small engines to propel them instead of, or in addition to, sails. 

And yes, he'd served as part of a 'crew' on a sailing vessel before, but never in earnest, never when the actual safety of those aboard depended on him, only for his own amusement, with far more capable individuals hovering in the background to take over should the need arise. 

He wondered if Craig was any more experienced in such matters, although he could just imagine the retort they'd get from HQ if they protested on such a basis. {"Just do the best you can, old chaps. Doubt it will be any too taxing a job,"} he could just hear in his mind.

And the name of that absurd vessel intended for them? The 'Edward Lear', or so claimed the banner gaily outlined in royal purple and gold on that base of brilliant pea-green, right alongside a comic sketch of a stuffy owl and a smirking cat - apparently just so no one could avoid the obvious connection. If 'undignified' had been a class of sailing ship, the 'Edward Lear' would have been the flagship of the line.

{"At least part of that nonsense rhyme will ring true, as it appears we will be taking with us 'honey, and plenty of money wrapped up in a five-pound note'. If you are willing to consider that bundle of misinformation as 'honey', and the substantial sum of counterfeit bills concealed inside the secret compartment of that deceptive cash box which would appear to hold a far lesser sum. However, since the others claim I often act like a stuffy and bombastic 'owl', and since Craig is often described, with reason I must admit, a 'clever and cunning cat', I suppose there are other similarities. Far too many for chance, perhaps? Someone is deriving far too much enjoyment from this, in my opinion. And I would have sworn there was no one at HQ with a sense of humor!"}

He decided to reserve his indignation for their mode of transportation and leave their required impersonations uncommented on, at least by him, for the moment. He was all too aware there would be plenty of commentary from other sources.

Garrison shook his head. "Unfortunately not. Eduardo Bashear and Jason Coval got away, WITH the doctored information and the sizeable sum of money the Allies advanced them for this project. HQ thinks they drowned trying to make their escape. No one is admitting responsibility for that slip-up, but that really isn't the most important thing right now. And frankly, I suspect they were both just too good at the con to have gone out that way, to have ended up dead. More likely they're in Brazil or Macao or somewhere, enjoying their ill-gotten gains and more than a little amused at the confusion they've left in their wake. The money they took off with was NOT counterfeit, which is why HQ is using mostly counterfeit bills for this job; they can't afford another loss of that size!

"Right now, though, HQ has to have someone ELSE meet the Argentine envoy, someone who can impersonate Bashear and Coval. Someone who can con that envoy out of their part of the puzzle without them getting wise that what's being offered in return is fake. 

"That someone turns out to be the two of us - you and me, Actor, since Bashear has a certain physical similarity to you, and Coval has always kept a low profile and is known for changing his appearance at will. The envoy already knows the name and description of the yacht; Coval set that up. So, we head out on the" and he winced, taking another look at that picture, "on the 'Edward Lear'. Well, at least we won't need any lamp signals or code words - there can't be two of those floating around!"

Casino snickered, "and this Bashear and Coval, these two guys, they were getting it on together, right? So that means you and Beautiful here . . ." That snicker turned into a full-fledged belly laugh, gaining him glares from Garrison, Actor - AND Goniff, for some reason Casino couldn't quite figure out. Chief just wore a slight frown.

Casino just had to rub it in. "So, you gotta get in a freakin' purple and green boat the size of an overgrown bathtub, sail out to the middle of nowhere, and just sit and play games and wait for this envoy to show up. Knowing someone might be watching with high-powered binoculars, so you gotta play along with the con of everything being oh-so-cozy. Ahhhh, how sweeeet! So, tell me, this envoy - is he a Piggy-wigg or maybe a Turkey?" Casino asked, naming the two other principals in the Edward Lear nonsense poem, along with the obvious Owl and Pussy-cat to be portrayed by Actor and Garrison. 

The safecracker started laughing again, getting a snarled, "ain't funny, Casino. Them two, out there alone in the middle of the ocean, just waiting for some blokes to pull up and expect them to 'and over the goods in exchange for the other, them goods being snide - anything could 'appen!" No, Goniff was not seeing any humor in the situation.

"Yeah, considering they're pretending to be this Bashear and Coval, 'anything' is kinda saying it all," Casino smirked. "Well, they're professionals, right? Anything to make the con come together - in a manner of speaking. Gotta make it look good for the audience, right, Beautiful?"

No, he wasn't going to let it go, not til someone popped him one, and it looked like the others were mentally drawing straws for the privilege. 

While they were doing that, though, it was Chief who asked the truly pertinent question, "do either of you know HOW to sail a boat like that, enough to get by? You might be able to pull a con for all the rest, but don't seem like that's something you can fake. Wouldn't figure gettin yourselves drowned would help things any."

Luckily the answer was yes, from both of them, they had done enough sailing to at least get by - provided no heavy storms came up or anything equally traumatic. That might not have relieved anyone's mind too much, (would have even less if they'd known how much the truth had been stretched in those assurances), but it was much better than the alternative - having two total amateurs out there on all that deep water. After Scotland, none of them were fans of deep water. 

Then Casino made one comment too many, something on the order of them being willing to go down with the ship, or at least ON the ship, and Goniff popped him a good one on the side of the head with a copy of that 'Nonsense' book he'd seen in the library, and the yelling commenced.

The so-called yacht was as garish in person as it had been in the photo, maybe even more so since it was sporting a fresh coat of brilliant pea-green paint and the name had been redone in an even more eye-catching shade of purple. Actor ducked his head and surveyed the small cabin. A tiny paraffin stove appeared to be the extent of the galley along the back wall, although perhaps the cupboard above might hold some related supplies. A dual set of casks, snugged into metal holding racks, proclaimed 'Water' and 'Brandy'. A tentative check indicated only the one labeled 'Water' to be full. {"Pity. Brandy is just what this moment calls for!"}. Hooks on the wall for hanging tools, perhaps, or clothing, though they were currently unencumbered. As for the sleeping arrangments . . .!!! He loudly groaned his opinion to his new sailing partner 

"Just as I feared. If this is to accommodate four, it would have to be with at least two either suspended from the ceiling or tucked within the storage compartments under each of those two extremely short bunks! Goniff MIGHT fit, either above or below, though I fear even HE might find it cramped quarters." 

Garrison came up behind him, "actually, about where the other two were meant to sleep, it's more the first, I imagine. Those hooks, I think they're to support a couple of hammocks. I suspect we'll find those stored away somewhere." 

He laughed at the look of dismay on Actor's face. "But don't worry. Since it's only the two of us, we each get a bunk, though I can't see us needing more than one, since we can't exactly both sleep at the same time. SOMEONE has to stay on the alert. And look on the bright side; those bunks are end to end along the one wall, so with a bit of padding over that dividing board, we'll actually be able to stretch out."

They'd said goodbye to the others, and settled down to get the mission underway. That included a serious discussion of their individual skills and a reasonable division of labor. It had been a bit of a shock, and not a pleasant one, to discover they'd both been exaggerating their sailing experience at least somewhat. 

Still, the weather forecast was mild, the waters supposedly calm in the area they were heading, and they'd made arrangements (though without HQ being aware) to have the rest of the team not too far away. Unfortunately that was still too distant to be of much help in a sudden emergency, that second vessel having to be far enough away so as not to scare off the Argentine envoy. Considering that, Actor wondered why Craig had bothered, but had shrugged his shoulders acceptingly when Garrison puzzled over the question, and then said, "you know, Actor, I'm not sure. I just have this feeling . . ." Well, Garrison's intuition had saved their skins many a time, and Actor wasn't inclined to discount the impulse. 

They spent the first day reacquainting themselves with the mechanics of a small sailboat, as well as the two radios - one a weathercaster identical to that any other such boat would be carrying, but the other a quite different model, cleverly concealed in a wind-up phonograph.

"A phonograph??! But surely THAT will be spotted as a fake, Craig! The motion on even a quite-still body of water would cause the needle to jump and ruin any record you might attempt to play! No one but a fool would even think of bringing such an object along!"

Garrison laughed. He had made that same comment when Ian O'Donnell had showed him the rig-up. Ian had told him, "but that's the whole idea, Craig. We're playing to their expections, after all; that's what you do on a good con, right? And although you are right about the movement ruining any record you tried to play - and we've included a few examples of that for verisimilitude - the instrument itself DOES work, would be quite acceptable in any other setting."

Garrison ruefully explained Ian's reasoning to Actor. "We're supposed to put it off as a 'lovely idea that sadly didn't live up to our expectations'. Ian says if we really push the affectations, we can probably get away with any such nonsense. Says it's truly amazing what people will believe when they decide you, em, 'have a strong feminine side' is how he put it. Says you can push it all the way to the line of being a caricature, usually, without anyone even blinking. Seems their expectations, no matter how ludicrous, can act as well as any disguise ever would. Says it's always worked when he needed to pull such an act, and in his case, I can imagine him laughing in his proverbial beard the whole time."

That got a rueful laugh in return. Ian WAS someone with what was sometimes coyly termed 'a strong feminine side', no matter how inappropriate or inadequate or annoying that description might be to the individuals being described. Ian O'Donnell was an expert pilot, talented horseman, bruising fighter, an expert with both the art of the con and the forgery pen and much else common to Clan O'Donnell, and the thought of him putting on such a twee act was amusing as hell. Even his Bondmate, Jeffrey Ames, Aide to Major Kevin Richards, (though that quite personal connection was unknown outside the tight circle of Clan Family and Friends), found it amusing. (What Jeffrey DIDN'T find all that amusing were all the intrigued glances the ruggedly good-looking Ian would get from the ladies while in the performance of that affected role. Still, as Jeffrey admitted, it wasn't as if Ian encouraged them, or led them on; it was just that Ian was so attractive, that more than a few ladies always seemed determined to prove all he needed was a little time with the right lady to change his tune. Of course, even when Ian WASN'T putting on that act, he also got plenty of attention from hopeful ladies, so Jeffrey wasn't sure that was any better, though luckily Ian brushed those off just as consistently as the others.)

They finally got things sorted out, drew a deep breath, nodded a firm 'here goes nothing' to each other, cast off and set sail.

For the first few days, nothing happened, which was all to the good since they weren't expecting to meet up with the envoy til they reached a spot further along the coast, but quite a bit further out. It wasn't bad, other than feeling cramped, and they fell into an easy routine. In fact, each of them was a little impressed at how well they were doing, laughing to themselves and each other about their earlier trepidations.

{"So far, so good. In fact, it IS pretty good, surprisingly so. I haven't felt this relaxed in a long, long time. I guess it's true about what they say about salt air and an ocean voyage. Well, we have the salt air, though I don't know if this really counts as an ocean voyage or not; we've usually been within sight of land, if only through the binoculars. Now we're in position, and all we have to do is wait. Wait and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. Sometime, after the war, I might have to do this again; it's amazing how good it feels, like I don't have a care in the world."}

Craig Garrison leaned back on the padded bench next to the cabin wall, bracing himself against the gentle movement of the waves, and studied the cloud-studded sky. 

While tense enough when this ridiculous impersonation had begun, he'd grown increasingly relaxed over the past days. The weather was mild, no storms had slowed their path, no ships had challenged them. They'd made it to the appointed spot, dropped anchor, shifted the sails, and had had to make only minor adjustments since then. Even though he'd never liked the waiting game, this was turning out to be surprisingly pleasant. 

He found his mind drifting along avenues rarely experienced, his thoughts both lofty and mundane, with his resulting ambitions being both encouraged, at least in the theoretical state, and tempered with a quiet contentment that made him reluctant to do anything about those ambitions. While he would have thought to find that frustrating, being a man of action, he didn't, not in the least. It was almost as if the thought was enough, in and of itself, no further action required.

He'd found his mind drifting into other areas as well, more personal, even uncomfortable ones since Actor was his only companion on this voyage. If it had been otherwise, if he'd had his choice of companions, things might have been different. He recalled that particular vivid daydream he'd indulged in a little while back while Actor was taking his turn at sleeping. Then later he'd enjoyed repeating of that daydream with both of them half-drowsing on the benches on the deck, Actor on the one along the starboard side, Garrison occupying the portside one - {"a hunting lodge, a snow storm, a gentle fire -"}. He'd enjoyed that daydream, a lot. It seemed to be the right time for such thoughts, since Actor had appeared to be having a remarkably pleasant daydream at the same time, if a totally different one. They'd even shared those thoughts, if in a rather vague, desultory fashion.

Now, those daydreams only a pleasant memory, they conversed idly, watching the clouds drift overhead.

"Are you seeing anything in particular up there, Craig?" Actor asked, noting the studied concentration on Garrison's face. He noted the officer looked every bit as relaxed as Actor felt. 

{"And to think I was worried about this assignment, dreading it. Even as small as this so-called yacht is, there is something quite appealing in the experience, though I can't quite put my finger on just what is contributing to that the most. Perhaps just the air, the open sky and sea - whatever, I am finding this quite a pleasant respite."}

"Just thinking about that mural on the Common Room ceiling, Actor. I'd have said it had nothing in common with reality, but seeing the sky out here - I think maybe I was wrong. The intensity of the sky, that color of blue, the intense white of the clouds against that background. Even the birds that just went over have that same slightly out of focus look about them as the ones Goniff painted. It makes me happy, just looking at it. The sky out here, I mean. Though, that ceiling does too, sometimes. Maybe all the time." There WAS a smile on Garrison's face, a slightly drowsy smile of contentment.

Actor squinted upwards, then over at Garrison curiously. To his mind, there was no similarity between this marvelous view, this glorious manifestation of nature in all its wonder, and that monstrosity Goniff had painted with such glee and enthusiasm, along with, of course, such total lack of taste or talent. And - what birds? He hadn't seen any sign of those all day. That comment was surprising, since he'd always thought Garrison had a sincere appreciation of beauty, giving him a good eye for fine art. {"Perhaps a touch of the sun?"}

"Ah. I must say I had not noticed any similarity," he offered carefully, lighting his pipe carefully. Yes, the sea was holding steady, but fire was nothing to scoff at on board a sea-going vessel, if you could honor this 'overgrown bathtub' as Casino had called it, with such an unsuitable title. Still, there was something about the day, the deep feeling of contentment it brought to him, that just called for a leisurely indulgence with the pipe.

Garrison developed just a hint of disapproval, maybe even more. He challenged, "so, what do YOU see up there in the sky? What does it remind YOU of, Actor. The Sistine Chapel, maybe? The Bella Loggia? Maybe the guys are right; maybe things have to be 'high-toned and fancy' for you to really appreciate them. Not everything of value has to be that way, you know, Actor. Sometimes the things of most value are the ones which, at their innermost heart, are simply honest and warm and sincere. Oh, once in a while, okay, a visit to Rome, marveling at the wonders, sure. But for every day, give me the simple pleasures, ones I can be a PART of, not just an observer. Ones that wrap their arms around me, keep me warm, not expect me to be satisfied to gaze at them, worship them from afar."

Actor was slightly taken aback by those words, even more so the tone in Garrison's voice. {"Rather as if I'd offered offense to his favorite author or something similar. No, even more than that, something more personal? How odd! I have to wonder if we are even talking about the sky anymore; perhaps not even the Common Room ceiling."}

Still, giving Garrison the benefit of the doubt, he concentrated on the question, even gave it serious consideration. "No, not the latter, though the sky out here holds some of the same magnificence as portrayed in the murals of the Sistine Chapel. Though I am also put in mind of 'The Birth of Venus' by Botticelli. One could almost imagine the fair Venus arising from the waves, entrancing us with her young and innocent beauty, a beauty that promises to grow into something far, far more with time, something to fulfill every desire a man might have."

Garrison snorted in disdain. "Trust you to bring a woman into it, Actor. Botticelli is well enough, AND Michelangelo; I can appreciate their talent, the beauty they created; but to be honest, they, what they created, they are too distant, too remote for my taste. No, give me something I can appreciate every day. A piece of pottery, perhaps, formed carefully and lovingly by hands intending for that object to be a part of your everyday life. Perhaps a mural like the one on the Common Room ceiling, painted for an audience of one, something formed of kindness and caring and a deep knowledge of that audience, something intending to cheer and comfort and warm ONE individual. That is worth . . ."

The argument continued for awhile, becoming slightly heated as each expressed their own points of view, then faded as their attention was drawn to the small boat approaching from the distance.

"Show time, Actor," Garrison offered, getting a resigned reply.

"So it would appear, Craig. Hopefully we can get this completed and head home without this getting TOO embarrassing. Perhaps we will continue our discussion later. Now, my dear 'Jason', shall we dance?"

The transfer had been accomplished, Actor and Garrison merrily waving farewell to the laughing crew of the other vessel, before staggering over to collapse on the padded bench to one side, 'Jason' leaning into 'Eduardo's' shoulder comfortably, just as those departing would have expected.

Soon, once the other ship was out of sight, Garrison would rise, go make the radio call to bring in the second ship hovering a goodly distance away, one captained by two of the O'Donnell friends and crewed by the rest of his team. 

He hadn't intended to ask for help, just report the success of the mission. He had intended for the two of them to simply sail to their appointed docking place, but he suddenly had no confidence either he or Actor could manage that - not when he kept forgetting which sail was supposed to be up, and which down, along with a few other possibly important details that kept slipping his mind, like how they were supposed to sail away when that silly anchor held them in place! 

When he'd expressed that sudden doubt to Actor, he'd not been impressed with the blank look he got in return, nor the lazy answer, "can we not simply cut it free, Craig? Do we need it anymore? Did we even need it in the first place? Right now, I cannot imagine what for. Such a heavy and awkward thing! Surely it would counteract the purpose of the sails, would it not? Would one really desire BOTH?"

And so the message wasn't just the 'it's done; we're going in' he'd intended. The worried men on the other end of that radio heard a voice, oddly faltering, though that possibly was caused by a faulty transmission, "it's done. But I think you'd better come get us."

The ship, this one powered by motor, skillfully eased up alongside, and his men swarmed aboard, glad to see the two well and alive. That they were surprised by their reception, a mixture of joviality and odd chuckles and vague, slightly embarrassed smiles, went without saying.

"What the hell is wrong with them?" Casino exploded, as Garrison and Actor attempted to explain cheerfully that the men "should watch that side railing, it keeps slipping away if you aren't careful." They looked at the very solid railing, then at each other, then back at their gallant leader. 

"You could tip right over," Garrison explained earnestly, as he leaned far out to demonstrate, starting to lose his balance, only to be pulled back by anxious hands.

"And if you are of a mind to waltz, do be mindful of that tilted deckboard; it can prove most awkward," Actor had offered considerately, though giggling softly at that 'mind' and 'mindful' being used in the same sentence.

Goniff was frowning at the two merry men, now offering to demonstrate how that tilted board could interfere with a serious waltz. He could easily see what had Casino so confused, had been wondering something along the same line. 

Then, on his way to take a closer look at the two, he passed the entry to the cabin and paused. He sniffed the air, leaned inside to repeat that action, and raised his brows thoughtfully. He walked over to Garrison, looking at him carefully and then leaned in close enough to sniff slowly along the open collar of Garrison's shirt, getting a fond, if sleepy, look in return. 

{"Salt, sun, sweat - and . . ."}, Goniff thought, only to be startled, pulled away from his consideration, by an unexpected movement from the officer. 

That Garrison had just leaned over to sniff appreciatively at him in return, warm breath tickling the pickpocket's neck, Goniff tried very hard to ignore, though it wasn't easy, especially that "MMMMMMMM! Niiice!" the officer purred, to the raised brows of everyone except Actor. 

Goniff shivered, pulled away, not daring to look at the others, though he could feel that pink flush rising, knowing it was probably apparent on the back of his neck even if he kept his head turned away. {"Nice??? Don't see 'ow a fast scrub-up once a day in a bucket of sea water and soft soap could make any of us smell particularly nice! Expect it's pretty much like with 'im - salt and sun and sweat. Except for that last bit with 'im, the bit that's different. But, can't be right; not likely now is it, not with 'im and Actor."} 

He stepped back, and then strode the three paces over to give a fast sniff at Actor's shoulder, though from the con man, there was no mirroring of Garrison's odd response, only an imperious raising of that aristocratic head, as if annoyed at the unaccustomed familiarity. 

Actually, Goniff was more than relieved at that. He really didn't want the con man to be sniffing at him; it just wouldn't feel RIGHT! {"You don't see me going around sniffing at people, not without having a ruddy good reason!"} he thought indignantly, though he wasn't quite sure what he was indignant about, since he hadn't been all THAT annoyed when Garrison did it, only surprised.

Goniff returned to the officer, standing squarely in front, tilted back his head to squint into Garrison's smiling eyes, looking at his irises more closely. That wasn't a problem, even with their height difference, since Garrison was now leaning forward, closer and closer, looking into Goniff's eyes too. That satisfied cat-like smile was starting to get a little disturbing, at least to Goniff's mind. 

Putting two and two together and coming up with a resounding four, Goniff shook his head, muttering to himself, then turned an incredulous grin to the others.

"Ruddy 'ell! Stoned out of their skulls, the pair of them! KNEW we shouldn't've let them out 'ere on their lonesome! W'ere on earth did they find the stuff way out 'ere anyway??! Blimey, you can't be doing stupid stuff like that out 'ere! Anything could 'ave 'appened! And don't know about you, Actor, but doubt the lieutenant 'as much experience with that foolishness!"

It hadn't taken much searching, not once Goniff described what they were searching for, once he sussed out the first bit and handed it around for them to breathe in the scent. Once you caught a good whiff of that aroma, that smokey-stinky-sweet-herby scent, knew it for what it was, it was easy. 

Chief stood looking at the now-opened compartments under the decking inside the cabin, well littered with what appeared to be a gray-blue dust and feathery residue. They'd found much the same inside the benches up on deck, even in the wooden platform forming the bunks. There were even a few small intact bundles tucked here and there.

Goniff added it all up in his head; those bundles plus all those bits and pieces and flecks amounting to a goodly pile when you thought about it. "And it getting 'ot in 'ere, the air being close anyway, the sun beating down outside - they wouldn't 'ave 'ad to smoke it or anything to start to feel it. And after awhile . . ." he grinned, shaking his head at the picture that formed. Well, it did account for all that sniffing from Garrison, and that smile; that was kinda a relief, well, maybe. Though Goniff HAD liked that smile, and that look in Garrison's green eyes had been interesting, more than it should have been, maybe.

"So, they been breathing all that in the whole time, and getting loopier and loopier," Casino laughed. Yeah, he could see that too, found it funny as hell. 

They now heard a rare snort of amusement from Chief. Considering the innate dignity generally shown by the Italian, and Garrison's firm 'I'm an officer, all business' demeanor, it really was kinda funny. Just picturing that waltz was enough to make them laugh.

In the end, the unmanned green and purple 'Edward Lear' came in towed behind the 'Sea Gull', the two stalwart sailors, successful in their mission, stretched out on bunks in the first ship with wet cloths on their aching heads. 

"Blue sage. Indian hay. Hemp. Ganja. Otherwise known as Cannabis sativa. The 'Edward Lear' had been transporting that substance for some months, it would appear, possibly even years - enough there was sufficient residue to affect anyone on board if exposed for an extended period of time," Actor explained in a manner far more subdued than his usual lecture mode. Well, he was slightly embarrassed not to have realized what was happening, of course, and he was still nursing a slight headache. Along with a severe craving for chocolate, for some reason.

Casino snorted with amusement. "So, you and the Lieutenant, both high as a kite, sailing around the ocean making happy faces and singing happy little songs??"

"Not exactly," Garrison replied dryly. "It didn't affect us to THAT extent, thankfully. 

{"Well, actually it did, or close to it, but THEY don't need to know that!"}. 

"And it didn't affect us getting the job done. It was even helpful when it came right down to it. Mercado and his compatriots had been told to expect a slightly unusual, even offbeat pair on the 'Edward Lear' and the slight mental and emotional - em, enhancement - of the Cannabis certainly helped in that regard."

Yes, it had helped, as had that slightly off-key laughter and singing as they managed that staggering waltz together around the deck to the amazement of Mercado and his second in command. Somehow that made the explanation of the presence of that ludicrous anomaly, a wind-up phonograph and records that would be useless on a sailing ship, a little more believable; made it a little less likely Mercado would take that instrument apart to find the quite operational radio inside (a radio capable of signaling the others when the job was done). The OTHER radio was out in the open, it being a model keyed to only receive weather reports, had passed without notice as it was only to be expected in any such vessel venturing out onto the water.

Other than Actor having to playfully slap away a flirtatious approach from one of Mercado's men toward Craig, something that had no repercussions, thank goodness, the exchange went down without a hitch. Job done - just a little walk in the park, like HQ liked to proclaim. Or a nice relaxing little ocean voyage.

Garrison could tell his men that, could tell himself that, but he knew he was going to have to word that official report very, very carefully. No sense letting HQ know just how offbeat their behavior had been under that illicit if rather intriguing substance. He wasn't even sure he was AWARE of how offbeat their behavior had gotten, though he remembered enough to make him uncomfortable.

He knew he was going to have a hard time meeting Actor's eyes any time soon; that wistful sharing of thoughts and dreams and ambitions had been far too intimate, although nothing more intimate than that had been shared, thankfully! They'd each been caught up in their own experience, aware of the other having their own experiences a few feet away, but not engaging, not melding those. Well, considering how different those thoughts, those musings, those dreams were, that was hardly surprising. 

It was probably good that the memory of all that sharing was fading rapidly, at least in him, and he sincerely hoped in Actor as well. While Garrison felt a lingering thread telling him he should be annoyed with Actor for some reason or other, since he had no idea what that reason was, he let it slide away. At least, he knew he could no longer remember what Actor had shared; his memory where his own was concerned was still a little too clear for comfort, though even that was becoming thinner, wispier, before finally drifting away as well. Still, just knowing they HAD shared extremely private thoughts was an uncomfortable thing.

{"Cannabis sativa,"} he mulled. He was going to have to do some research there, about the typical reactions to exposure, if there were after-effects to be expected. There had been so many odd moments out there, sensory-enhancing, mind-expanding, UNIVERSE-expanding moments that had been oddly freeing. He'd been able to think thoughts, dream dreams he'd never dared before. 

That was intriguing, could be beneficial, in fact; perhaps it could help him when he just couldn't quite see how the pieces of a puzzle fit together on one of the jobs he was assigned.

He wondered as well about its other qualities. He'd experienced some additional effects, ones he didn't intend to mention to the guys OR put in his report certainly. A heady, even urgent desire had been present, he remembered, pounding in him, but the desire had not been aimed toward Actor, and it seemed it had been much the same for the conman. Thankfully so; that would be a complication neither wanted or could afford. Anyway, physically, he knew he couldn't have followed through, perhaps even if the true object of his desire had been right there; while the spirit was more than willing, the flesh was, as they say, out-to-lunch. An oddly frustrating experience, one he wasn't eager to repeat. 

Still, the thought did occur as to whether the flesh really WOULD be as indifferent under other circumstances. He was probably lucky there were no local sources to provide him with a supply of that material for experimentation, though he thought it an area SOMEONE should investigate. Still, the idea that it could be useful in figuring out some particularly challenging situations, let him see more clearly the possibilities - - - oh, only where the job was concerned, of course!

He'd finally asked, privately, the only person who'd recognized that substance for what it was, figuring if Goniff knew that much, maybe he knew more. 

An indignant Goniff had almost popped HIM upside the head, calling him any number of things, 'idiot' being one of the milder ones. 

Well, maybe it wasn't proper, talking to an officer like that, but Goniff figured if said officer could take the liberty to go sniffing a person without any good reason, without even asking if the other minded - not like with him since he HAD had a ruddy good reason - then that officer could just sit back and hear a few words he needed to be listening to!

It seemed the Cockney thought Garrison should leave such research to those getting paid for that sort of thing, or those who had nothing better to do, or who had a real need. {"Though we might keep it in mind next time 'e's got 'imself banged up; might 'elp w'en we can't get the morphine or other things from the doctors. Just as well I 'ung onto those bundles, got them tucked away nice and tidy. Never fancied the stuff, myself; took too much of the edge away to be safe, but 'ere, for 'im, w'en it's needed, it's something to fall back on."} 

Goniff also obviously felt that if you needed such a thing to arouse your interest, you were in the wrong company. "W'at the ruddy 'ell you thinking of trying next, a good dose of warmpole? Blister beetle? You don't NEED any of that, and I don't want to be 'earing of you looking around for any of that! Barm-pot!"

And, as Garrison had been reminded in an unaccountably stern voice by his pickpocket of what Goniff felt should be the capper, "and if nothing else, can't see HQ being all that much in favor, not as prickly as they seem to be sometimes about even the littlest, most 'armless, of things!"

As for Actor, well, he was enjoying a measure of relief as well. Garrison seemed not to remember Actor's vivid comparison of Lynn's resemblance to that Venus Arising, as painted by Bottacelli, along with erotic descriptions of his warm desire for Garrison's sister; Actor had poured out his longings, his rapturous descriptions of what he longed to have happen between them. It would certainly be best of Garrison had forgotten all of that. As he remembered it, he had not held back anything in the way of his most fervent desires, Lynn's imagined response to his actions; he flushed to remember the lurid phrases he'd used. No, far better if Garrison didn't remember any of that. {"He would probably be within his rights to challenge me to a duel, if those were still in fashion"} he realized.

{"Though, what was it Craig was telling me of his own desires - that secluded hunting lodge, a sudden snowstorm cutting them off from the outside, their every inhibition disappearing like smoke in their warm and private surroundings. For that matter, who was the other part of that 'they, them'? I'm sure he said, or I think he did, but for the life of me, I cannot remember, not a name, anyway, even a description. Though a blonde, I believe. Yes, it was a blonde, I'm sure, with blue eyes. Well, whoever it was, it surely wouldn't have been anyone more unlikely, more potentially dangerous or disasterous than my fantasizing about Craig's sister!"}

"Next time you two decide to go living out nursery rhymes and poems and shit like that, let us know in advance. We'll try to come up with some real good ones, Warden," Casino had offered with a laugh. "Ones where you're not likely to end up swimming with the fishes."

"Thanks, Casino. I think we'll pass. Maybe we'll go with something a little less complicated than that in the future. I'm not sure my head can handle another dose of literary missions," Garrison replied dryly. 

No, he'd had enough of that, for a long, long time. Now, if he could just get rid of that lingering headache, along with that odd craving for raspberry cordial and chocolate!

And in a small tidy bungalow on a small island set somewhere far, far away from the war and all its activities, Eduardo raised a glass of tolerable brandy and toasted his companion. 

"Not bad, Jason, not bad at all. Though I will miss the 'Edward Lear'; such lovely memories, such lovely dreams the dear boy provided; the most relaxing atmosphere, you know."

Jason Coval chided, "now, Eduardo, aren't ships supposed to be female and all that? Told you so when you insisted on that name, you know."

Eduardo scoffed. "Mere convention, Jason, and while I've always said one must be AWARE of convention, know all of the ins-and-outs so as to take best advantage of your opportunities, there is no need to be a slavish adherent to such a narrow-minded creature. 

"DO pass me my pipe, will you? It was so thoughtful of you to pack some of the Indian hay along with all the rest. It should tide us over until Mercado sends us a new shipment. I am simply dying to hear about that meeting, you know. From the way Julio was laughing when he relayed the transfer had been made, it must have been quite entertaining. He said the two making the exchange were thoroughly enjoying themselves."

Jason smiled contentedly as he filtered a little Indian hay into his own pipe after passing his partner his. 

"I'm sure it must have been. I wonder who that HQ group decided to send in our place? Hopefully someone with a sense of humor. That might come in handy once they realize the information Mercado handed over was as false as the information, and the currency, that THEY provided. If they do, that is."

Indeed, the only thing NOT counterfeit out of that whole scheme was the sizeable advance Eduardo and Jason had received in the first place. It wasn't the first such plan they'd put into place; it wouldn't be the last. Well, they had to finance this delightful little island getaway SOMEHOW!

'The Owl and the Pussy-cat' by Edward Lear

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea  
In a beautiful pea-green boat,  
They took some honey, and plenty of money,  
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.  
The Owl looked up to the stars above,  
And sang to a small guitar,  
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,  
What a beautiful Pussy you are,  
You are!  
You are!  
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!’  
How charmingly sweet you sing!  
O let us be married! too long have we tarried:  
But what shall we do for a ring?’  
They sailed away, for a year and a day,  
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,  
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood  
With a ring in the end of his nose,  
His nose,  
His nose,  
With a ring at the end of his nose.

‘Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling  
Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’  
So they took it away, and were married next day  
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.  
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,  
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;  
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,  
They danced by the light of the moon,  
The moon,  
The moon,  
They danced by the light of the moon.


	2. The House That Jack Built

"Dogs chase cats, Goniff. That's just the way it is," Casino proclaimed, frowning impatiently as he watched Goniff's vain attempts at distracting that snarling dog enough to let the fleeing cat, now perched on a tree limb overhead, get away. 

They'd all crouched in the shadows watching the mangy dog with the prominant ribs giving hot pursuit to a scrawny but agile yellow cat. They'd been afraid the chase would lead right through their huddled group, exposing them to the enemy, but luckily the cat chose a tree a few yards away to make its stand, the dog on its hind legs braced against the trunk about four feet below.

Not that it was all that engrossing a sight, certainly not germane to their presence near the house that served as command post for the German supply dump close by. Except, of course, that the chase had also attracted the laughing and cheering attention of the German soldiers passing by. It seemed the sides were pretty heavily matched, those rooting for the dog and those taking the side of the beleaguered cat. Chief wondered idly if they were spotted and a pitched battle broke out between the guys and the krauts, whether the dog and cat would watch with similar interest, or just continue with their own battle.

Now that the soldiers had heeded the impatient commands from their leader and passed out of view, Goniff was once again making little shooing motions and encouraging sounds at the mongrel, much to Casino's continued annoyance. 

"Leave the damned thing alone, Goniff. Dogs chase cats, cats chase mice; that's just the way it is - everyone knows that. There's all kinds a stories and shit about it. And every story that says something different in the beginning, like they're trying to be all buddy-buddy, it all comes down to the same thing in the end - dogs chase cats, cats chase mice. Don't make sense interfering, trying to change the way things are supposed to be. Just gonna get yerself bit, most likely."

"Like that old poem, 'The House That Jack Built', you mean?" Goniff asked. "Seems the dog might 'ave chased the cat that killed the rat, but the dog didn't come out so good 'imself, least in that one. Seems like they'd've come out better teaming up, maybe. Like us. Might all 'ave come around alright, doing that, with none of them getting killed in the bargain. Wouldn't even 'ave gotten to the point of getting all the rest involved," the pickpocket argued, though not pausing in his peacemaking efforts. He finally got the dog's attention, giving the cat time to make its escape, though with him almost getting bit in the process, much to Casino's 'told ya so' satisfaction. 

"And I expect that bloke got it wrong, anyway. It WAS more likely a mouse, not a rat, not if most rats are like w'at I've seen at 'ome and in the village; most I've spotted were too big for a regular cat to be taking on. Most rats I saw in London, at least w'ere we were, was bigger than any cat, even that big stray tom that 'angs around back of the pub cause Jake feeds 'im on the sly."

Casino snorted, taking another quick look to be sure the soldiers were gone. "Maybe yer right about the rat being a mouse. You might even be right about the dog and cat, least in that story; could get away with a lot of shit if they stuck together maybe, but don't see any reason for them to be bothering with a mouse. Oh, wait, that's like you, right? Guess you WOULD be thinking they should be looking out for HIM right enough. WE sure seem to be doing enough of that; you ever get a good growth spurt, maybe we could stop bothering," maybe not meaning it, but just being contrary for the sake of being contrary. Besides, yanking the Limey's chain, watching his reaction, that was always good for a chuckle.

Goniff started to poker up, still a little pissed at the ribbing he'd gotten from the safecracker after being blown off course by that big gust of wind during the parachute jump. Wasn't like he could tie weights to himself before he jumped out of the plane, now was it? Didn't ASK Casino to pull him out of that heap of brush neither; was managing it himself well enough. And while it was okay for Goniff to joke about himself being a 'sly mouse' or a 'clever mouse', that didn't mean he was okay with Casino doing the same; besides, he could tell the safecracker didn't always mean it as any compliment.

Chief breathed impatiently, "you better pipe down, Pappy; you're barking too loud. Them krauts hear you, we're ALL in trouble. Lieutenant's bound to be back any time now; he'll expect us already in position, not still way out here."

The two members of the Underground who were accompanying them, Gustav and Nico, hadn't understood one tenth of all that conversation, but the impatient looks on their faces said they understood and agreed with at least that last part. There was too much talking and not enough doing. There was a job to get done, and standing around watching the never-ending battle between cats and dogs wasn't getting that accomplished. They needed to get a move on; they had a timetable, one their leader wouldn't be all that happy to have delayed.

Garrison returned from that last-minute confab with Vanto, the Underground leader, and it was time to make their first move.

The Underground had inside information about where that all-important key ring was kept, and Goniff headed in to retrieve it. Well, with all the trip-wires and special alarms and everything else supposedly in place, the Underground leader swore it would be disasterous to have more than one man inside. 

"Just the one who can best obtain the key from the sergeant at arms without being detected. That would be you, Lieutenant, I am sure. You have the reputation for such things, much like a cat in your sly and clever ways," Vanto had insisted, and Garrison agreed, just wanting to get going and not being inclined to discuss the particulars.

Gustav had been surprised, protested, obviously disapproving, when, once they were on location, Garrison had sent Goniff in to make the snatch, not going in himself. 

Garrison simply ignored the arguments; Goniff was the right man for the job, the one with the sharp eyes and sticky fingers, no matter the opinion of the two Underground operatives. The sergeant at arms supposedly kept the keys in his jacket, and at this time of day, that jacket would be on the hook just inside the front room, while the non-com took his accustomed, if unofficial and probably unapproved, nap. Goniff should be able to slip in, get the keys and be back out again in record time. By the time the sergeant at arms was awakened by the blast of the supply dump going up in flames, he'd have more on his mind than the whereabouts of those keys.

While he hadn't let it show, certainly not to the outsiders, Garrison didn't much like sending Goniff in alone, either, especially since the house supposedly had all sorts of collectibles left over from the prior owner. He knew how tempting such things were for his pickpocket. Still, Goniff had listened to his strict instructions, had swore he'd stick to grabbing the keys and nothing else.

Gustav sped off to keep watch at the entrance to the supply dump, as Vanto had promised he would, Nico heading back to give their leader an update, giving Garrison a glare as he left. Garrison was just as happy to see them go; he didn't like bringing insiders in on a job in the first place - wouldn't have, if Vanto hadn't insisted, and Garrison's orders from HQ had been to cooperate with the Underground leader as much as possible.

Garrison and the team waited impatiently til at last Goniff appeared at the side door, glanced around hurriedly, and tossed the handkerchief-wrapped key ring toward the bushes where Casino was waiting to grab it. Then there was a quick movement in the shadowed entrance. A slight frown appeared on their pickpocket's face, and he flashed them a quick puzzled shrug, as if something was not right, not going according to plan, inspite of his having gotten the keys.

There was an aborted hand movement from the pickpocket, not enough to be one of their signals, though. Then, instead of Goniff following out the door after the keys, he disappeared from view, the door now closed. 

They waited for him to reappear and join them. They waited - and waited.

Garrison finally lost his patience. "Wait here, I'm going in. I swear, if Goniff has decided to go shopping . . . " and then he was gone, around the corner and in the side door where their pickpocket had disappeared. The others looked at each other and groaned. Goniff had SWORE he'd behave, that he understood this was no time to be pushing Garrison's buttons or trying to pull a fast one, no matter what bit of glittery caught his eye.

"What now, Beautiful?" Casino ground out.

Actor sighed, "now we wait, Casino. And hope they do not run into trouble."

"We don't wait long, though, right?" Chief said, that more a statement than a question, while pulling his blade out of its sheath, making sure it was ready if needed. 

"No, Chief, we do not wait long. But long enough to be sure they need us. And long enough to come up with a plan of what to do if that IS the case."

No, Goniff hadn't gone shopping, or if he had, he hadn't gotten very far. That much was apparent when Garrison rounded the corner and saw his pickpocket in a heap in one corner, a smiling Gustav standing over him with a drawn revolver. That Goniff had taken a few good blows was obvious from the blood dripping down his face, and by the way the man was hugging his ribs with one arm, but the glare in those blue eyes should have been enough to burn the traitor to ashes if all had been fair. 

"Tried to warn you, Lieutenant, w'en I saw 'im inside," came a broken mumble from Goniff's bleeding mouth. "Sorry."

Gustav's voice was mocking, "you have come for the mouse? Too bad. Thieving mice often fall into a trap and come to a bad end." 

Gustav shrugged in amusement, "unhappily for the mouse, of course, but that is simply the way things go. We did not expect that, the mouse - you sending someone else in first. But that is why you are so successful, yes? You saw it was perhaps a trap, you made sure it was not YOU who stepped on the plate. 

"But it was you we wanted in the first place, my imaginative, oh-so-cunning cat. The mouse merely sprang the trap first. As I said, too bad for the little mouse. It was our good luck that you came after him, though not yours, of course. Not so smart after all, my cunning cat; cats are not supposed to protect mice. You should know that."

The baleful look he got in return didn't indicate Garrison agreed with anything the rat who'd betrayed them had said. 

"That doesn't matter. He's MY mouse, and he's coming with me. We're leaving and you're coming along; I'm sure Vanto will be interested in this development. Or is he part of this, maybe the one giving the orders?" and the look he got told him that was indeed the case. 

When Gustav made it apparent he wasn't going peacefully nor allowing Garrison to retrieve his 'mouse', Garrison's swift actions bore out his very serious intent. 

Goniff tried to roll out of the way, but ended up under their feet several times, which only added to his misery and didn't help Garrison in his fight. Still, once he managed to get to one side, protected somewhat from the brawl, he tried to keep track of their movements, and when the time was right, he gritted his teeth and deliberately pushed himself under and between Gustav's feet, the rat landing on the floor with a thud. Garrison followed with a hard blow, retrieving the revolver and stood there panting.

"You okay, Goniff?" he asked, getting a wry grimace from his battered and bashed mouse.

"Never better, Lieutenant. Just like HQ always says, just a little walk in the - LOOK OUT!" 

And with that, Nico, the one built like a bear and almost as hairy, came in the door from the next room with a rush of speed belied by his size. And the battle was on again, though this time Goniff managed to get far enough away to stay out from underfoot. 

Although the pickpocket didn't have the same hand-to-hand skills as Garrison, he did appreciate, even admire the way the officer carefully took note of and took subsequent advantage of every weakness, every flaw in Nico's fighting style. He just hoped all that would be enough; if Nico ever closed with Garrison, the man's superior strength just might be enough to overcome all that skill.

And ultimately, that was the case. Garrison gave it his all, but Nico had the strength of three men and the longer reach, and Garrison went down under one powerful blow. Goniff lunged forward, tried to block that huge booted foot to Garrison's head, and partially succeeded, feeling his cracked ribs now giving way totally at the impact. In the end, both 'mouse' and 'cat' were sprawled limp and unconscious on the wooden floor. That Nico and and the recovered Gustav were unhappy at having to expend all that effort was obvious, as both Garrison and Goniff took a few followup blows.

Neither man had time to enjoy their triumph, though, as Actor and Casino, acting on the conman's plan, had managed to unlatch the locked shutters in the next room over, silently pry the windows open, and now attacked them from the rear. The arrival of the sergeant at arms, aroused by the noise, put them at a disadvantage, and the pistol he aimed at Actor would have probably ended the battle if Chief, entering from the other side of the house, hadn't thrown that blade with such finality.

The billows of smoke and flame from the ravaged supply dump escorted them on their speedy exit. They were all trying to catch their breath, Actor tending to Garrison's wounds, intending to deal with Goniff's immediately thereafter.

The solemn recitation in that raspy voice surprised them all, then caused a few wry chuckles at just how apt it truly was. 

*So 'ere is the mouse that stole the keys from the 'ouse the Krauts built.  
And there is the rat that trapped the mouse that stole the keys from the 'ouse the Krauts built.  
And this is the cat that fought the rat to rescue the mouse that stole the keys from the 'ouse the Krauts built. 

"Easy enough to see the w'ole thing, if you look at it right!

"Back there was the bear that trapped the cat . . .  
This is the dog that bit the bear that trapped the cat . . .  
This is the owl that made the plan that saved the dog that bit the bear that trapped the cat . . .  
And this is the wolf that iced the man who shot at the owl that made the plan that saved the dog that bit the bear that trapped the cat who fought the rat to rescue the mouse that stole the keys from the 'ouse the Krauts built," Goniff finished with a great deal of satisfaction. "Though seems the lieutenant WAS a big enough cat to take on that rat, though maybe not the bear. And I guess Actor was both a dog AND an owl, but if anyone could 'andle that, I guess it would be 'im."

"Now, see, Casino," Goniff proclaimed proudly, leaning painfully back against the worn seat in the car Chief had stolen for them to make their getaway. "See 'ow that all works out better, them all working together like that? Just because something is said to BE a certain way, doesn't mean it always 'AS to be that way, now does it?"

And while Casino thought the grinning Cockney was enjoying this way too much, especially for someone still sporting the significant lumps he'd received from the bashing he'd gotten from that rat, he couldn't really argue. Not in the face of the agreement apparent with the rest of the team, including Garrison, that cat who'd fought the rat AND the bear in order to rescue their trapped mouse, even if he had ended up needing rescuing in turn. And while the bear had ended up dead, the rat was bound and gagged on the rear floorboards, ready to be turned over, along with the soon-to-be-collected local Underground leader who had plotted to mislead and betray Garrison.

"Yeah, I guess so," the safecracker admitted grudgingly. "Maybe. I just wouldn't go expecting something like that to happen too often. Most of the time, what was meant to be, just is. Don't go thinking cats and mice are gonna start cozying up to each other, or dogs and cats neither."

Goniff just looked smug, "maybe so, Casino, maybe not. Guess time will tell."

Never mind all that stuff about dogs and cats and mice not getting along. He figured there had to be a few exceptions out there. And, for his part, he found he didn't mind being called a mouse so very much, at least not by Garrison, not when their leader, clearly one very clever cat himself, so firmly claimed Goniff as 'MY mouse!'. {"If I'm to be 'is mouse, does that mean 'e's MY cat?"} That just made it all seem alright somehow. Not that he was much in favor of Casino calling him a mouse or any such a thing. {"A bloke 'as 'is limits, after all!"}

English Nursery Rhyme - 'The House That Jack Built'

1\. This is the house that Jack built.  
2\. This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
3\. This is the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
4\. This is the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
5\. This is the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
6\. This is the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
7\. This is the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
8\. This is the man all tatter'd and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
9\. This is the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter'd and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
10\. This is the cock that crow'd in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter'd and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.  
11\. This is the farmer sowing his corn, That kept the cock that crow'd in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,That married the man all tatter'd and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.


	3. Thimble, Thimble, Who's Got The Thimble

He wasn't sure when, or even why he'd become suspicious of the activity at the Orphanage. It wasn't like he was over there very much, usually just to drop off a donation when he could manage it, sometimes to see if they needed anything he could scrounge from a few unnamed sources, anything he needed to have his guys put their hand to make things a little better for the kids over there.

But he DID become suspicious, started going over more often, just to see if there was any chance he was right. Perhaps with him being gone so much, he'd just lost track, or so he'd told himself in the beginning. 

But now he knew that wasn't the case, not after carefully watching the kids in the yard playing - Ring Around The Rosy, I Spy, Tag - You're It!. Maybe doing chores, or at the classes set up inside by the ever-industrious Rebecka Standish. Not after he started keeping that small sketchbook with their faces, any names he was able to determine.

All the regulars kids were there, yes, but there were far more newcomers than even the current wartime circumstances should have allowed for. And, oddly enough, no sooner than he became familiar with the new faces, added them to his sketchbook, then they were gone, and a different bunch of faces had joined the regulars.

Rebecka Standish was gracious, certainly, displayed no discomfort at his carefully-worded questions, only a vague wonder at how he could have thought an occasional bit of comings and goings in the midst of a war was anything other than to be expected. Garrison was pretty sure she was lying through her pretty teeth, but he got no sense of guilt or wrongdoing from the minister's sister, only a gentle dissuading of his becoming overly-involved in her affairs.

Still, he wondered just how much she was concealing, because he KNEW he couldn't be wrong about his suspicions. Yes, children were appearing, then disappearing without a trace. There was something going on, something that sat sour in his stomach, at least the possibilities that came to him no matter how he tried to shake them away, refused to let him set his suspicions aside. Still, for Rebecka Standish, of all persons, to be able to run such a talented con was something he just couldn't believe.

It took time, time in which he grimly noted three new groups of children arriving, then disappearing, with a fourth arrived only a short time before. When he finally traced the activity to the source, he was stunned.

He'd laid out his conclusions, priding himself on keeping his voice calm and even. Well, except at the end; he'd rather slipped there, but who could blame him?

But did she answer him? No. Instead, he sat at the kitchen table in the O'Donnell cottage and watched in disbelief as, instead of just answering his simple question of "just what the HELL is going on??!!", Meghada O'Donnell reached up to get three cream-colored eggcups, identical in all ways, from the cabinet. She turned them over, let him look inside each. Empty, all three. Then they were placed upside down on the table.

"See the hazelnut, Craig? Now, watch the hazelnut," she instructed, pulling one of the small brown nuts from a basket on the table, holding it out on the flat of her palm. And he did watch, as the hazelnut was placed under one cup, then that cup, then the others slowly moved around, each to the other's place, then faster and faster, til they were all back in the starting positions.

"So, where's the hazelnut?" she asked. 

He didn't know what point she was trying to prove, but at least this part was easy. He confidently pointed to the middle cup.

"There."

She raised one brow, "oh - really?" as she flipped the eggcup over. He started to smile as he glimpsed the first sight of an object, then the smile faded as he realized it wasn't a hazelnut, but a bronze ring. Where the hell did that come from? The low snorts of amusement from his men hadn't helped his disposition.

"Tsk, tsk. You were supposed to be watching, Craig, then finding the hazelnut. No one said anything about a bronze ring." She turned the other cups over - nothing there, no hazelnut, nothing. 

She sighed, "oh, well, if you prefer to deal with bronze rings, very well. We'll do this again."

And she placed the bronze ring carefully under one of the egg cups, and started the movement, slowly, then more and more quickly. 

"So, where is the ring?" she asked. This time his confidence had been shaken somewhat, but still, he just KNEW it had to be under the left egg cup. He pointed, and she up-ended that egg cup.

The sad shake of her head told the story, "an egg. Well, I suppose that makes more sense, considering we're using egg cups, but really, was that what we were looking for? Now we've lost not only a hazelnut but also a bronze ring."

He reached out his hand, examined the tiny porcelain egg trimmed in gold sitting on the table; then he upended each of the other egg cups. Nothing.

"Just what . . ." he started to steam at her for playing a nonsense game when he'd been asking some very serious questions, then he stopped. "Oh. OH!" And he stared in sheer horror. A game, but one played with children, not counters??

"So, it's like a big shell game?? Thimble, thimble, who's got the thimble? They arrive as one person, then poof! They're gone, into thin air. And in their place, someone entirely new. Someone who is there one minute, then . . . " Garrison demanded, thumbing his way through the stack of folders. Identity cards, background details, birth certificates, baptismal certificates, other things of that nature, all for the newest five children he'd noted. To his eye the documents all looked quite authentic, though he knew they weren't.

"My brother Douglas is giving them a new identity. He, several others with the appropriate talent," she answered calmly, not in the least uncomfortable at the note of censure in Craig's voice.

"Mary Louise Davis. That's who she's to be, this Esta Ruben. Will that fly? I mean, I've seen Esta, she speaks - well, it's not English."

Meghada nodded. "Esta speaks mostly Dutch, mixed with some German, some French. She speaks and understands Yiddish, but has received so many cautions about that from her previous experiences, she pretends not to, and we have encouraged that, for now anyway. She is learning English rapidly. Her file, well, the new one anyway, explains her parents, recently deceased, are Canadian, and worked in Belgium under the auspices of Loudon Corporation, a multi-national company. Naturally her associations would have been among those families, she would have gone to school likewise; that accounts for her skill with various languages. And yes, if you look further, all of that is well documented. We have been quite thorough."

He gritted his teeth, "and they are going where? And don't lie to me, don't make it any worse - if that's possible!" flipping through the folders of five children, ranging from five to twelve years in age.

Goniff lifted his head sharply from that downcast position he'd assumed once Garrison had stormed in demanding answers. If the pickpocket's expression had been apprehensive, even sheepish, it turned in a flash to horror at what he could imagine Garrison was thinking, then to sheer defiance, resentment boiling off him in a cloud. Goniff rarely looked dangerous; when he did, it was more than a little impressive, as was the cold snarl that answered that accusing tone. Garrison was more than a little taken-aback by that fierce response.

"W'ere do you think, Lieutenant? Maybe the specialty brothels up in London? Maybe on one of the outbound ships w'at 'andle the trade that supposedly don't even exist anymore but ruddy well does? That w'at you 'ave in mind? Well . . ." and it was obvious Garrison was in for a rare dressing down from the usually mild-mannered Cockney.

"Goniff," Actor chided, though giving Garrison a steady, not-overly-approving look. 

Goniff made a harsh sound of disgust, and turned his eyes away.

"Goniff's got a point, Actor, though maybe he's readin' the lieutenant wrong. So, Warden. If not the brothels or the ships, where? You thinkin' maybe they're headed for a 'government-approved school' somewhere, some spot where someone can decide what the kids should and shouldn't be, should or shouldn't believe? Decide whether they're worth feeding or keeping warm, even keeping alive. That be something you're worrying about, or maybe something you'd even be in favor of?" Chief asked, blank-faced, but obviously no more willing than Goniff to step back.

Actor sighed; obviously his 'stand down' signal was going to go unheeded. Well, he couldn't really blame the men; Garrison WAS being a little quick to jump to conclusions, even if those so-obvious conclusions on his part hadn't actually been voiced.

"And do you really think another DP camp is the answer, Craig? Another place behind barbed wire, with insufficient shelter or food? A place dangerous enough for an adult, much less an unaccompanied child?"

Garrison backed down, though not giving them any room to doubt his frustration with the situation. As much to give himself time and space to pull his thoughts together as anything else, he reached out for the stack of folders.

One by one Garrison flipped through the records, suppressing a groan, though not tempering the glare he gave the redhead as he did so.

"Mary Louise Davis - Joseph Collier - Christina Aston - Fasira Beshan - Lucia - - - -". 

Giving an incredulous look over at the glowering man at a side chair, "really, Casino? YOUR last name? Coincidence, I suppose?"

Casino gave him a steady look. "I never told you about my dad's younger brother, Mikey? He got killed a few years ago, so there's only his wife, Rosa, and the munchkin. Lucia, ya know? Pretty little thing, big brown eyes just like her dad."

"Ahem," Meghada corrected softly, "big blue eyes".

"Oh, yeah, big blue eyes, just like her mom," Casino smoothly offered. 

Goniff offered eagerly, "and if you're worried about Fasira not blending in, being she's a little darker than the rest, well, you'd expect 'er to be, right? With Alphonse being 'er cousin and all, though really being more like a big brother or uncle. No one's likely to even blink an eye, 'er showing up in that brood." 

Garrison remembered Alphonse, the friendly fence from Goniff's street-running days, 'black as the ace of spades' was how Goniff had cheerfully described the second-generation immigrant. {"Abija, the little girl's name is, I think, and she's close to that shade, I'd think, if not quite that dark. So, she's now Fasira. One of these days these guys are going to drive me straight out of my mind!"}

Garrison expanded that glare to include all five people in the cottage.

"Damn it! I don't have enough complications???! I need a drink!" 

Two drinks later, and he was at least somewhat calmer, if no less worried. While the horrible things that had come to his mind could be safely laid aside, (and he wanted to boot himself in the rump for ever thinking in that direction; that he'd ever thought his guys, that Meghada, would be involved in anything like what had first come to his mind. . .), there were plenty of other things to replace them on his new list. That 'What Could Go Wrong With THIS Scenario?!!!' list.

"So, orphans, refugees, survivors from a bombed-out DP camp, some with no known history at all, just found wandering. They end up here. Rebecka Standish, bless her conniving duplicitous little heart, gives them shelter at the Orphanage and some basic education and orientation. Your brother Douglas and a few more talented fingers come up with new identities. Your contacts - and no, I do NOT want to know who and where - provide the blank document forms, from several different countries even, later attach the necessary seals or certifications, get them magically in place wherever those records would be kept. Esta becomes Mary Louise, is drilled in all the particulars. Then, new homes - temporary or permanent, as needed, as available - are set up, only with people you know very well and can trust totally, both with the child's welfare and with the necessity for keeping all of this secret. I suppose it's Ian and some of his pilot friends who manage the magical disappearance and reappearances. I believe you mentioned once that borders didn't really hinder the Clan when you had necessary errands to run."

Meghada gave him a slow, sympathetic smile. {"Yes, no matter how much we would have preferred him not to have learned any of this, for his own good, at least his own peace of mind, I am quite sure he would prefer it even more. He does worry so about things."}

"That covers it quite well, Craig."

"Grrrrrrrrr!" It might not be a particularly civilized method of communicating his feelings, but it got the message across, enough everyone sat back, silently worked on their drink, and let him come to grips with the reality of the situation he'd walked in on.

He finally sighed, took another sip from his own glass and ran his fingers over the five files.

"These are very, very dangerous. Why not burn the old records, remove all traces of their prior existence?" he asked reluctantly.

"Just as they have a need for safety, Craig, so will they have a need for their history. They have a right to know the truth, who they were, who they might wish to become again. Once that does not compromise their safety. As is true for . . ." and her voice trailed off.

He sighed once again, "for all the rest. How many, or do I even want to know? No, nevermind, I DON'T want to know.

"What about the drain on the Orphanage's resources? Those are not only NOT unlimited, they are stretched pretty tight most of the time," he asked. Well, he wasn't ready to deal with the ethics of any of this, or the legality, or the morality for that matter. That left only the practical and the financial. He was already wondering how tight he could pull the belt on his paypacket, what more he could add to that envelope.

Actor was the one to answer that. "Each new child who arrives comes with some baggage, of one sort or another. That such baggage would also include a small stipend, that is an extremely fortunate thing, since it ensures no one is shorted on their behalf." 

"And that baggage, that stipend just appears out of thin air?" Garrison asked, giving his men an amazingly-dirty look. He'd THOUGHT there had been some monkey-business on the last several jobs, more than usual even, though he'd only caught them at it once. Maybe this would account for that unexpected spurt of activity.

Actor said, grimly, "it is truly amazing how little is needed to provide one small child with the bare essentials, so that they do not arrive with absolutely nothing, Craig. Or, at least, so I would assume," he said, plastering an innocent smile on his face.

Garrison finally turned to Meghada, his jaw tight. "So, I can see you wanting to help the kids. But what about Rebecka? What about the guys? Did you consider the trouble they could be in? The trouble you ALL could be in?"

Meghada let her eyes widen as far as they could, willing innocence into that expression with all her might. She would never attain the talent for looking as innocent as Goniff could, had always found a suitably baleful look served her quite well in most cases, but she had picked up a FEW pointers from the man. 

"Trouble? How could they get into trouble? Rebecka cares for children who show up on her doorstep; she does not require a provenance. Why, however COULD she? She is an innocent, of course, would never doubt they are who they are purported to be, or who their belongings might indicate they are. Of course, she is less adept at record-keeping than might be desired, so the files ARE a bit of a shambles, but no one has every talent. Surely the job of giving the children proper care is more important than keeping track of paperwork. And as for the guys? How could they possibly get into trouble over something they have no knowledge of, no suspicion of, certainly no involvement in. Why, they hardly have any contact at all with ANY of the children over at the Orphanage except as requested by you or dear, sweet Rebecka, and purely as an act of kindness. 

"And really, I doubt any of your wild suspicions are valid, Lieutenant. Personally, I'd put it down to a lack of sleep on your part. That DOES tend to make one imagine all sorts of odd things, you know. You in particular; I've even heard you mention that a time or two."

"Do you think he'll blow the operation?" Casino asked, after Garrison left.

"I do not think so, Casino. Still, a little caution would hardly go amiss," and Actor gave Meghada a concerned look.

"We will see. In any case, these five left the Orphanage an hour ago, Ian and Paul should be getting them settled in the planes by now. Rebecka knows to pull that lovely innocent clueless face if any come asking, or that stern 'why are you meddling in my business' one, should that be called for instead. In the meantime, these records go with the others, and I'd stake my life that no one will be able to suss them out."

Goniff fingered the cigarette he'd been allowing to droop out of the side of his mouth, inhaled deeply before blowing out the smoke with a deep sigh.

"And until we know for sure, w'ether 'e's going to rag?" he asked. 

It troubled him that it was even a possibility, but he knew Garrison drew his lines in a different spot than Goniff and his teammates did. {"Can't fault the man for that, I suppose, but still 'ope 'e don't. Don't know I could ever look at 'im quite the same, afterwards, if 'e did!"}

"Until then, this base is no longer in operation. All of the children, other than the regulars, are out and gone. Cousin Joss's side of the family will take over, as was planned, at a different location already in place. No one will be at a loss, laddie; no children in the pipeline will go uncared for, and we'll do our best for any likely ones we come across. We have far more than one string to our bow. We cannot save everyone, not even a tiny portion of those who need saving - but what we can do, we will."

Casino nodded, reaching out to pour another round. "Yeah, well, that's okay then. Just remembered, though. My Aunt Rosa, I think maybe I was remembering wrong. Could be Lucia wasn't her and Mikey's only kid. And I got a few others in the family I might have forgotten about - hell, it's a big family, ya know? Not like I can remember EVERY crumbcruncher out there! Figure, I think hard enough, there could a whole bunch of others I need to add to the Christmas list."

Goniff chuckled and gave Casino an approving look. For all that tough guy image, Casino was a sucker where kids were concerned, and his family seemed to be pretty much the same. Lucia wouldn't be the first to be gathered in to safety among that wide-spread but closely-knit clan

Chief nodded, letting his dark eyes linger over the safecracker's embarrased face. "Figure that's so, Pappy. I know how bad your memory can be sometimes. Maybe after the war, you can get caught up on everyone."

"Hell, yeah! I'll introduce you around to the whole bunch, Indian. You can help me remember the names, okay?"

This time that smile broke out full-force. "You got a deal, Pappy!"

And at the Mansion, in his solitary bedroom, Garrison sipped a glass of whiskey far inferior to what had been available at the kitchen table at the Cottage not too far away. 

He'd waved away the Sergeant Major's concerned questions, claiming he just needed some down time and intended to take advantage of the guys being gone to get just that. While Rawlins wondered how Garrison had known the guys had taken a bunk, since he hadn't mentioned that and hadn't intended to unless the lieutenant specifically asked, knowing they'd be back by lights out, he just nodded and promised not to intrude unless it was an emergency.

Now the young officer propped himself up against the headboard and debated which should be his top priority - a telephone call alerting the authorities, whoever that might be, to what was going on? Another drink? Or maybe just a good long nap. 

In the end, he decided on just the last two out of the three. He had a feeling it was better that way; had a feeling whatever qualms he might have just didn't outweigh the disapproval, the disappointment he knew he'd see in his men's eyes if he'd decided otherwise. 

It wasn't such a difficult choice anyway. He knew the disapproval, the disappointment he would see in their eyes would only be an echo of what he'd see in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror, or in Professor Milford's, the next time his deceased but still present mentor decided to drop in.

A small fire in the fireplace, even though the day was far too warm for that to be needed - the pages of that notebook fed into the flames, one by one - and he firmly erased the memories of those faces from his mind.

In the meantime, he sipped his drink and wondered if she'd teach him that trick with the egg cups, or maybe Goniff would. Yeah, he'd bet his pickpocket knew that one; there had been that sly hint of a smile as those blue eyes watched the action with the egg cups, that equally sly nod of approval given to the Dragon. 

He thought back to that drink he'd shared with Lupan, Meghada's father, his last visit to the village - the laugh they'd shared at their early ambitions and chuckled at their naivete. {"Yeah, the guys, they've certainly acted as a tempering agent on HER. Almost as much as she's been a civilizing influence on THEM! I wonder what the hell they're going to come up with next!"}


	4. A Cat With Buttered Paws

They'd sometimes heard Craig Garrison described as a cat (along with a few other terms, of course, some less favorable). Alex Ainsley, Micah Davis and Kerry Reynolds had known the man during much of their tenure in Special Forces, and they had to admit the title fit. Sleek, crafty, alert, a keen hunter of his appointed prey, willing to observe and stalk that prey for however long it took, then equally willing to pounce with deadly precision. Now, during that final reunion after the war, it seemed he had even more in common with that title. Yes, no doubt about it - Craig Garrison was quite a bit like a cat! His men had remarked on it many a time, and soon they would even hear him admit it himself.

Ainsley leaned back in his comfortable upholstered arm chair, nodding a thanks as he accepted the cup from Garrison. He glanced knowingly across at the others, before letting his amused eyes survey the precisely organized office adjoining the sitting room-cum-library where he and his fellow ex-team leaders were seated. 

{"Seems like some things never change, like Garrison's insistence on precise organization. OR like Garrison's skill with the coffee pot, though in that case, it's more like his lack thereof!"}

His eyes were watering slightly at the burnt aroma coming off that cup of coffee Garrison had urged on each of them. Ainsley didn't say anything, though, didn't complain, any more than Reynolds or Davis had, after their first silent sip. After all, Alex Ainsley was a tough guy. They all were tough guys. They'd gone through combat, found themselves on the wrong end of a bullet or a knife more than once, stood up to any number of hardships before. Surely they could handle Garrison's coffee, though each of them did wonder just how he managed to make it THAT bad! They'd watched him, not just this time, but quite a few times during the years they'd known each other, and still couldn't figure it out!

They'd already been told by their host that the other members of Garrison's old team were here, at least LIVED here, even if one or two were possibly elsewhere right now. 

"I haven't done a headcount, obviously, since I just pulled in, so I don't know for sure. Actor is here, probably, though I'm not certain about Chief or Casino; they might have crashed in one of the rooms at the pub. Although, maybe they ARE all here, but if so, they're likely still asleep. It IS early, and they had a rousing night of poker and related activities planned down there when I left yesterday morning, and that could drag on, knowing my guys." 

Garrison had mentioned Actor and Chief and Casino in their initial conversation as well; remarked they each had their own quarters "along the hall there", jerking his head in one direction. Goniff's name had been obvious in its omission, this time as well as the first, though no one mentioned that, not yet, though they did wonder.

"I was surprised when I heard, after I asked around. Wasn't like I figured it would be, Garrison," Ainsley admitted, "you staying here in England, starting up a business. Well, thought you'd head back to the States. You never said, not exactly, but I thought that's probably where you had that 'rock solid deal' waiting for you. Did that not work out?" 

"Oh, it worked out just fine," Garrison countered, smiling knowingly down into his cup, then winced at the sight of coffee grounds floating along one side. If he had some in his cup, it was a sure bet his three guests did too. It wasn't like that coffee pot was going to play favorites.

The coffee was from the pot on the back counter of his office, hastily made as soon as they'd come in. His coffee was something not really considered drinkable by most people, including those who lived here now, but he knew the former team leaders were used to having things rough. Even HIS coffee was probably better than NO coffee after a long drive, and he wanted a little time alone with this bunch before he introduced them to the better brew sure to be available in the private area down the hall. 

Yes, THAT coffee would be better by far; stronger than hell, certainly, but at least some heavy cream would turn it into something drinkable, even highly-enjoyable. Add a spoonful of sugar, it was rich enough it could even count as dessert. He was ruefully aware that nothing really helped his own brew. Oh, he might pretend otherwise, loudly proclaim it was just an acquired taste, but he knew.

As he explained now, with a contented look, "I guess I'm like a cat; my paws got buttered while I was here, and it feels like home now. Leaving, heading back to the States, it just didn't have that much appeal. My sister pretty much felt the same; Lynn's here too, at least most of the time, though not right now."

This was the first time they'd been together, these four men, since the teams had been disbanded, the others awhile after Garrison's own, as they had been assigned to help with the demobilization efforts. Although their disbanding had happened without the accompanying trauma and turmoil his had encountered, of course. And they certainly hadn't been up on the current situation, if you wanted to call it that.

Garrison figured there were a few things they needed to know, probably, especially if there was to be continued contact in the future. Though maybe not; it would depend on how this initial conversation went, his gut feeling. He wasn't sure yet, but there were a couple of options depending on what he decided.

If Garrison decided AGAINST, well, he'd excuse himself, go alert the others to the necessity for that con they had talked over for just such an occasion, before heading these men down for that second round of coffee. 

If he decided FOR, he might explain. OR, he might just let everyone, both sides, be surprised by the face-to-face, and let the chips fall where they may; knowing the players involved, that had the potential for being at least interesting, possibly amusing as hell. 

That thought made him stop and realize, for maybe the thousandth time, how being around his guys had changed him; there had been a time, way back when, that the idea of letting those chips fall where they would - well, he knew the idea never would have occurred to that Craig Garrison. {"Of course, with that Craig Garrison, a LOT of things would be different."}. That he didn't miss that Craig Garrison one little bit was a thought he'd had more than a few times as well.

He was still undecided when Ainsley spoke again, bringing Garrison's attention back to the conversation at hand.

"AND you still with the guys - that was a surprise, though maybe it shouldn't have been, as tight as you all were. 'Garrison Consulting and Retrieval' - sounds impressive. Well, guess you couldn't really call it 'Garrison's Con Artists Incorporated' or anything like that." 

That got a laugh all around, including a rueful but acknowledging one from Garrison.

"Good luck with that, by the way! This consulting and retrieval gig you have going, that should be good. For them anyway; not too sure about for you. They'll turn you gray in a year, if you're not careful, as I'm sure you know, but if you can keep a handle on them, it's got to be better for them than anywhere else, and their skills would fit right in with what the job probably calls for. I like the thought of that, anyhow, all of you still together; I was a little worried there, what would happen to them when it was all over."

Again, the absence of any mention of Goniff in there, just using the broad 'all'. No one quite had the nerve to ask about that omission, not yet. The three men had noticed that odd flicker in Garrison's eyes whenever the subject was approached; they didn't know how to read that expression, and that made them wary of speaking too soon.

Ainsley continued. "Like I was telling these two on the way down. I'd been thinking - for your guys, how it'd maybe be like that old song. You know, 'After The Ball'. When after all the high hopes, all the effort, it still just all goes to hell. 

"Maybe because I've heard so much, too damned much of that all around. Dear John letters, some of the guys I know. Others, guys who never even got a letter but getting back to find they've been replaced in one way or another. Homes gone, for a lot of the guys who came from places in the thick of things. People, family, friends gone too, sometimes, and not just in the hot spots, but back in what we'd all assumed would be 'safe' areas. Jobs supposed to be waiting, but never lasting too long for one reason or another. Some guys so banged up, so much damage done, they couldn't hold down the jobs they used to, even if someone offered. Not everyone, thank god, but too many, with not nearly enough others willing to understand what they've gone through, ready to maybe lend a helping hand. Just forgetting about them once they weren't needed to hold a gun or fly a plane anymore. A lot of good men out there, not knowing quite where they fit in anymore."

Reynolds nodded, adding "and with your guys, well, they're kinda unique to begin with. We heard HQ pulled a real fast one, there at the end. Things were pretty hushed up, though, so not much got out for awhile." 

There was a question implied there, an opening for Garrison to fill, if he wanted. They were hesitant to press, at least right away, but they were curious, of course.

No, HQ, the whole military setup - the Big Shots at large hadn't been too anxious for the details to get out, not once the fur stopped flying. The fewer knowing about how the ones in charge had gotten their heads ripped off, scoured briskly, and handed back to them like that, the better. There were some rumors, but not a hell of a lot of solid, reliable fact laid out there for consumption. 

Actually, there wasn't a hell of a lot out there even now, about everything that had happened, not a lot that was believeable, anyway. That's why the three former team leaders were still coming to grips with the reality they'd walked into here.

Garrison could see that, could empathize, but at the same time knew they had a lot more waiting for them if he decided to open it all up. He just hoped they were up to the challenge. They had become friends during the war; he'd like to continue the contact now that things had calmed down, but that depended on them and their reaction. As important as those friendships were, what he had here, it was more important, far more important.

Garrison had arrived in a battered car the same time they did, weary, having driven through the night in an effort to get home before dawn, before the others awoke. He'd figured on a hot shower, then an hour or two between the sheets, then a late breakfast or maybe an early lunch.

While he found himself wishing the three men had arrived a few hours later in the day, still, he'd greeted them with a wide grin and a firm handshake. Then he'd ushered them in through the French doors halfway down the long building, one that looked like a typical English cottage, but one that had been stretched out like an oversized rubber band.

Well, they'd heard that he was still in England, still in that village where he'd been based, and between the three, had come up with the idea of stopping to see him while on their way to see Micah Davis off on his way back home to Australia. While the other two were settled closer, Scotland and the north of England, Davis was heading home, swearing he'd never leave Australia again if he had his way. It seemed it might be the last opportunity they'd have to all be together, touch base one last time, at least in person. With all they'd been through together, it seemed a good thing to do.

Micah Davis snorted as he manfully swallowed down part of the contents of his cup, trying to avoid that gritty clump floating around.

"And what DID get out at the time, what we heard, sounded furphy as bloody hell! Some galahs brewing up a pissywhirl in a billy, yanking your guys away to drop them in a hole somewhere while keeping you busy answering to some drongos in London. You going all crack the shits on them, them signing you to rack off. Then, some hissing old Sheila waltzing in, peeling their hides off with her tongue, blowing flaming sparks up their bloody arses, pulling your guys back out again. Gotta admit, mate, not so easy to wrap yourself around. Like something outta some bloody story book for the ankle-biters."

Reynolds and Ainsley nodded, right along with Garrison - in agreement with the sentiment if not total understanding all the words involved. Well, they'd understood part of it, the general intent at least; they'd learned a lot from working with the Australian. And Reynolds and Ainsley had heard a lot of the same stories, enough for all of that to actually make sense. 

Of course, Garrison had been in the thick of things, most of it anyway, and had relished a first-person recounting of that 'hide ripping and spark blowing' from a delighted and maliciously-gleeful Major Kevin Richards. 

Garrison admitted, "actually, that's pretty much the way it happened, you know."

"The way I heard it," Reynolds offered, "it started when some bozo took a good long look at your files, what you and your guys had managed to accomplish. He got to thinking, realized what that could translate to in non-wartime situations, and got the wind up about what might happen then, them working so well together. Decided 'preventive measures' were called for. Hell, with their talents, them used to working together - I had a few thoughts along that line myself, I have to admit, Garrison. Could see them getting into real trouble before the month was out. Could see maybe a quiet watching brief, though sure as hell not what THEY tried to pull, a total double-cross!"

Garrison had to agree; he could even see the logic behind that thought. Wasn't it that worry - about what the guys would get up to after the war, where they'd end up - part of what had given him the idea behind that fledgling consulting and retrieval business in the first place? A way to keep them together the way he knew they needed to be, let him keep a good eye on them, keep them occupied AND keep them out of trouble? Well, there had been one or two other considerations, he had to admit, but that, the worry about the guys and their futures, that had figured in heavily right from the beginning.

Still, he couldn't forget, certainly would never forgive that double-cross by the military. There had been a deal in place. Even with it being altered after-the-fact from 'one mission' to 'duration plus six months', there had been a deal. The guys had lived up to their part, even after that first bait-and-switch manoeuvre, had risked their lives time and time again, taken their share and more of injuries, and he would never accept the reasoning behind the 'preventive measures' that had been dropped on them. If the Clan hadn't acted quickly and decisively when the men were sent back to those prison cells, who knows what could have happened? One, hell, all of them could have ended up seriously hurt, even dead, before Garrison had figured some way around the situation. For that reason, and others, he'd never wear that uniform again. Well, at least that's what he promised himself now; he knew as well as anyone how the world had a way of overriding personal plans sometimes.

Shifting the subject back to the here-and-now, Ainsley asked, "and it's working out? You keeping the team together, I mean. At least . . ." and hesitated, then decided once again against asking about Goniff, at least right then. {"Maybe later, or maybe he'll just say something, or one of the others if we see them. After all, it could be something as simple as the man wanting to be with his own family again, that 'mum' and aunt he always mentioned. But he was as much of the team as the others; at least, it sure looked that way. It's hard thinking about him wanting to be out there on his own. Still, what other reason could there be? Hope it's nothing bad, but as much trouble as Goniff could get into . . . "}. 

He hastily changed the subject, hopefully to something more reliably positive. From the look of settled contentment on Garrison's face, he thought the odds were pretty good.

"And, did that 'solid deal' you said you had, the one we talked about, did it stick? Is that still firm?"

Well, he'd wondered. Garrison had seemed so sure, so confident of his own 'deal' after that thing with Mercury, when they'd talked about deals and deal-breakers and how they could make or break a man. Mercury's deal had broken, not through any fault of his own, and that had broken him, driven him to suicide. 

Garrison swore then that his own deal wouldn't break, that it was too strong for that. It was Garrison's faith that had given Ainsley a little more hope that his own deal would stand firm, and thankfully, it had. Jenna had been waiting, just as she'd promised, and their lives were on track with all the plans they'd made together.

He'd wondered, too, back then, about who was on the other side of Garrison's 'deal', but Garrison had put him off when he'd asked, laughed and said "maybe after the war." Ainsley figured that meant he probably knew the woman, but that Garrison was keeping things on the q.t. til it was a little safer to talk. In their line of work, that made sense. You really couldn't afford any hostages to fortune, though a lot of the guys couldn't keep to that resolution. Sometimes that had worked out okay; sometimes, not so much.

Micah Davis was wondering a few things as well, things he would like to know before he headed back home, to the place he and his Jiem had intended to build together. A place he now intended to bring Jiem's sister and her boy, build a home for THEM, since Goniff had convinced Micah that that was what Jiem would probably like - maybe they'd even adopt a baby croc or two. 

He'd notice Goniff's name being missing from that roster of who was located in the other end of the place, didn't much like the possibilities that came to his mind. He had developed a soft spot for the Cockney, figured he owed him more than a little for pointing him in the right direction when Micah couldn't see the way clearly for himself, couldn't see a future after the war what with Jiem being dead.

Now, thinking, wondering, he knew he'd end up asking before he left, maybe getting Garrison alone first though, knowing he might not like the answer. He might even put out some feelers, see if he could find the little pickpocket, see if the man needed a safe place to be. That place in the Australian Outback wasn't big, maybe, but it was big enough for one more in the mix, at least for one small Cockney, he figured. 

{"Have to watch him around the croc, though; Goniff would make just one good mouthful once it gets full grown."}

Garrison grinned, stroking the leather band at his throat with two fingers.

"The deal is still good, rock solid, and here's the proof. Not a wedding ring, exactly, but it means the same for us. Neck bands, wrist bands, - wedding bands - all proof of the deal still being good."

He laughed when they just gave him a bewildered look; well, why wouldn't they? No one outside of Clan, Family or Friend, would have a clue what that band meant for that tight-knit group. With that, he made his decision, hoping it was the right one. He'd find out soon enough.

"Come on, let's head over to our part of the cottage, grab some fresh coffee, maybe some breakfast. They should be up by now, the other two parts of my 'deal'. In fact, I'm surprised they haven't come looking for me; that rattletrap of a car made enough noise, though yours seems to be quiet enough they might have missed that coming in at the same time. The guys, they have a kitchenette at the other end; they'll probably get their breakfast down there, but they'll all want to see you later, have a drink, catch up."

The three men exchanged quizzical looks. {"OUR part of the cottage? THEY? TWO parts of the deal?"} wondering if not only had Garrison managed to have a private life no one had known about, but maybe even a 'blessed event' that he'd kept quiet. {"Or, maybe the 'blessed event' came AFTER we saw him last,"} Ainsley thought. His and Jenna's blessed event was still a few months away, and a smile flickered across his face at the thought.

They followed Garrison down the hallway, waited while he unlatched some unseen mechanism, and swung the door open. Garrison touched one finger to his lips, cautioning them to keep silent. The look on his face, the one promising mischief in the offing, was one they would have expected from the missing member of the team, Garrison's pickpocket, but not from Garrison.

They were now at the entrance to a warm kitchen rich with the smell of properly-brewed coffee {"YES!"}, and the welcoming sight of blue pottery bowls heaped with fresh eggs waiting to be cracked, and a long flat dish with a slab of bacon waiting to be sliced, all sitting out on the counter beside the electric stove, and the heady aroma of baking powder biscuits coming from the overhead warming oven of the wood-burning stove on the other side. A tiny windchime hung over the door tinkled a welcome as the door jarred the lowest-hanging metal triangle.

"Bout time, Craig," complained a sleepy voice from the tousle-headed blond standing at the counter with his back to them, stretching as he poured a mug from that blue-speckled coffee pot. Not really awake yet or so it would appear, he was bare-footed and clad only in jeans, nothing else except for a pair of leather wrist bands around one wiry wrist. He added a stream of heavy cream to the cup in front of him, along with a spoonful of sugar, his stiff back still turned away as a sign of his evident annoyance, as if the chiding tone in his voice wasn't enough to make his point. 

"'Eard you drive up awhile back; better 'ave Casino and Chiefy take another look at that muffler - likely woke everyone in the whole village. You bring back the goods on that new job? All that so ruddy important you 'ave to spend time in the office right away stead of sliding into bed for a little 'good-morning wake-me-up'? The office 'as a 'igher priority now? SAD, that's w'at THAT is. My lovely blue eyes and bright smile and all just aren't enough anymore, I suppose," Goniff bemoaned, now in a highly-theatrical voice, complete with a deep and overly-melodramatic sigh. 

"Nevermind all THAT waiting for you, seems NOW it takes the smell of a decent pot of coffee in addition to bring you running. Oh, I SEE 'ow it is; was WARNED about 'ow soon the 'oneymoon ends! Oh, well! Seems we might 'ave to see if we can't put a little romance back into the mix, if that's the case; 'ave an idea or two there, I do," his voice shifting now to one lightly-teasing, automatically reaching overhead for a second mug to pour coffee for Garrison as well. "AFTER breakfast, that is; I 'ave to keep MY priorities straight too," he continued archly, with a toss of his head.

Garrison chuckled at that speech, though glancing at the three former team-leaders, the expression on their faces, with just a little trepidation. He was banking on this going well, no inconvenient attitudes to deal with, was hoping for the best. In any case, he'd decided he wasn't going to con these guys for the rest of his life.

Well, Ainsley and Reynolds, at least, seemed in agreement, sort of 'what the hell??', though no condemnation evident there, just confusion fading into dawning, maybe even amused, realization. 

Davis had a broad grin on his face, a look of relief and satisfaction the foremost emotions showing. {"Looks like I don't have to put out those feelers after all! Right where he belongs, seems like!"}

Goniff's back was still turned, apparently intent on playing out that indignant, neglected act he just couldn't quite pull off if he was looking Garrison in the eye, not without them both ending up laughing. They ended up laughing a lot anymore, it seemed, all three of them, though that not being something any of them had been greatly inclined toward before. Well, none of them had exactly been overloaded with reasons for laughter before, now had they?

Garrison winked at the three team leaders, then hurried to offer a smooth, if equally teasing, reassurance to the yawning Cockney now savoring that first long drink of coffee from the mug clutched in his left hand while carefully pouring out that second mugful with his right.

"Nothing about the job would ever be THAT important, Goniff, especially considering your 'lovely blue eyes and bright smile and all', but these three wanderers were. Well - at least temporarily. I'll take a rain check on everything else, though, alright?" walking over, reaching past Goniff to pull three more mugs from the shelf.

Goniff started at that, whirling around, not having realized before that they had company. He blinked enough to finally get the sleep out of his eyes, enough to recognize the three. A quick glance up at Garrison told him there was no harm done, not with the man smiling that wicked smile, a open smile on each of the other faces as well. Once he was sure of that, he let a genuine welcome show on his own face, and raised his voice enough to be heard through the open kitchen door.

"Ei, 'Gaida! We 'ave company, luv! Ainsley and Davis and Reynolds, can you believe!!! Looks like that breakfast is gonna need adding to! Lucky you put in those extra pans of biscuits, though can't imagine there being any left over for lunch and later like you were intending. The potato and onion fry-up should go well enough, and the tomato savory, and the rest. We won't 'ave enough eggs, though, and looks like we'll need that lovely bit of 'am your sister sent down, maybe that new slab of bacon too. And bet they'd like some of that cherry jam, and maybe . . . " he went on with evident pleasure and eager anticipation, though whether that was from the unexpected company or the enhanced breakfast menu was anyone's guess. Knowing the pickpocket, Garrison figured it was probably both.

A warm feminine voice from outside, though coming nearer word by word, gave a patient and good humored response. 

"Then you'd best put your shoes on and go raid the storeroom for what we'll need, laddie. Take the market baskets. Don't be bringing back the whole storeroom, mind you. I've only the two stoves and two hands, and there are only three more mouths to feed, and none of them ever-needing, not like yours. 

"And, Craig, will you PLEASE go dump that mess from your coffee pot in the compost heap and throw a forkful of leaves on top? It's smelling up the whole place, and I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't burned the bottom out of the pot again! How on earth you can turn such a simple process involving only two ingredients into something that foul, I never WILL understand! I'm looking toward the day someone makes a pot I can prepare for your office the night before and all YOU have to do in the morning is press a button. Though, I'd not be surprised if you find a way to befuddle the machine even then."

And the sight of the redheaded Dragon, the Ice Queen, a warm smile on her face, hair loose around her shoulders, clad only in a half-buttoned housecoat, a leather band at her throat similar to the one Garrison wore, coming in the kitchen door with two baskets of garden gleanings completed the visitors' amazement. 

She settled her gaze on the three visitors, and there was no doubt of the welcome there.

"And a bright good day and warm welcome to you three! We were speaking of you just the other night, wishing we could get together again! Micah, it's especially good to see you; we thought you might escape back to your precious Outback without saying goodbye!"

Garrison offered their guests a smug look. "Well, gentlemen. I'm sure you remember Goniff and Meghada - the other parts to my 'deal' you were asking about, Ainsley. Like I said, rock solid firm!"

{"Yes, well, I can see why he didn't say anything back then!"} Ainsley thought with amusement as warm greeting were extended on all sides. {"It wouldn't have been safe, not that it's so much that now, with anyone but staunch friends, and frankly, I would never have believed it anyway! I'm still not sure I do; maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find I was dreaming!"} taking another incredulous look at the three who occupied this part of the cottage so comfortably.

Everyone sat, breakfast was prepared and devoured, spirited conversation all through the lot, stories told, events remembered. 

And if Garrison seemed younger to them, more light-hearted than they'd ever known him to be? Well, not being in the military anymore, not fighting a war, not fighting with HQ, that might have accounted for part of it. Yet, he had even seemed to change in that short trip down the hall, from the office to the kitchen, as if who he was differed between the two locations. This, this greatly-altered Garrison in this relaxed homey atmosphere would take some heavy getting used to. Why, the man was almost purring in his obvious contentment. 

They wondered what the rest of the team thought about matters, but figured at least Casino wouldn't be shy about giving his opinion when they met up with him later. 

The sight of a barefoot, laughing Dragon (for they couldn't even bring themselves to mention the old nickname of 'Ice Queen', not anymore, not seeing how poorly it seemed to fit now) landing a quick kiss to Goniff's cheek as he headed out with those baskets, then pausing to drop a sweet caress to Garrison's golden hair on her way to the bedroom to get more fully dressed had them shaking their heads in wonder. 

Their confusion didn't lessen as she returned in trousers and shirt, her hair in a neat braid, but still without shoes, and happily handed them knives and bowls and an assortment of vegetables with a cheery "peel and slice, gentlemen, peel and slice. The faster you work, the quicker you get breakfast," well, that would take some getting used to also, though no one opposed her. This might be a new side of their former fighting companion, but they remembered full well not to test her temper or her patience. 

They watched, shaking their heads, as she gathered the results of their labor with a quick and steady hand, and just as quickly started turning it all into a hearty and appealing breakfast spread. Oh, well, she always had been efficient as hell in battle, on a job; no reason she couldn't be that in this new venue as well, they supposed, though the sight of her using that long knife on the slabs of ham and bacon seemed odd, them more used to seeing her use a knife on still-breathing prey.

However, while Meghada seemed oddly domestic, and Garrison had seemed younger than the man they knew, Goniff seemed older somehow. The sight of the Cockney pickpocket, no longer the fidgety chattery side-liner they had come to expect, but now a calm and confident man totally at ease, at home and seemingly in his element, gladly and competently sharing the host duties with Garrison, but as an equal, nothing less - that made them blink, even Davis. 

Reynolds watched Goniff meet their incredulous stares with an amused and knowing look, and the team leader had to wonder at the sea-change evident in the man's demeanor.

{"Wonder if the other three of Garrison's crew have changed this much?"} Reynolds thought. {"Wonder if WE have changed just as much, but just don't see it yet?"}. 

He thought about that for a few seconds, looked at Davis and Ainsley appraisingly, then shook his head resolutely. 

{"No, nowhere NEAR as much as these three! Unless they've been wearing a mask all this time, were never really who we thought they were, not entirely anyway. But - no. No one's THAT good at the con, not even these three!"}. But still, he wondered if anything they knew or thought they knew about these three was really true, at least anymore. Well, other than the sheer awfulness of Garrison's coffee; that was still a given.

It was Micah Davis' offer later that really capped off the jovial breakfast.

"Could send you a baby croc of your own, you know, Goniff; got a friend who intends to travel this way often enough with his new job, and a young one would travel well enough in a basket," he'd offered. 

Well, to his mind, a home just wasn't a home without a croc, and he couldn't think of a better 'thank you' to the little Cockney for that much needed talking-to Goniff had delivered just at the right time. If it hadn't been for that, Micah wouldn't be headed home to build some sort of a life with what family he had left, would have probably spent the rest of his days wandering aimlessly til the time came for him to rejoin his partner, wherever that might be. He and Jiem had never really discussed that, what lay beyond death, and now that it was too late for such a discussion he sometimes wondered what his partner had thought on the subject.

For his part, Goniff didn't want to seem ungrateful or anything, but frankly, a croc in the backyard wasn't something he thought adviseable - not something that would make him sleep any sounder at night. He already knew how Meghada felt about crocodiles; she'd made that clear after a mission or two when she'd run up against them. And wouldn't the ruddy thing be expecting its own pond or something, right at hand, and he didn't know they had the room for that. But how to turn down the well-meant offer?

Then he remembered a maxim he'd often heard, but frankly doubted, but it seemed to fit this situation well enough to be worth a try. {"'onesty is the best policy?' Who knows, it MIGHT work."}

He smiled, trying to insert a note of honest regret into his expression, as he offered what he considered the perfect excuse, even one with more than a little truth to it. 

"Thanks, Davis, I appreciate the thought. That's kind of you, really, but guess you'd better not. Already got a little dog to take care of," nodding toward the pint-sized Max sitting attentively at his feet, "along with a green-eyed cat that can't seem to stay out of trouble," glancing slyly at Garrison, then over at Meghada. "Not to mention a Dragon, of course, and you know 'ow they are. Then, there's Chiefy and Actor, not to mention Casino! to try and manage. Think adding a croc into the mix might be more than even I could rightly 'andle, even with all my talents."

Max just wagged his tail at the mention of his name, though Garrison smacked two fingers upside Goniff's head at that 'green-eyed cat' remark, and Meghada added a quick snap of her teaspoon just for good measure. However, since they were both laughing as they did so, Goniff just grinned and chuckled at the attention. 

He certainly didn't take either action to heart. He was pretty sure they would thank him later for so graciously turning down that offer. In fact, he figured he should probably put his mind to thinking of a few ways they might express those thanks. After all, avoiding a croc in the backyard should be worth a goodly amount of thanks. If he played this right . . . 

Actor and Chief and Casino heard the news of company with great enthusiasm. They'd shared a lot of action with the three visitors, were happy to see them, and now happily made plans for a night at the pub to celebrate. Davis had reluctantly started to demur, explaining he had his transport to get to early the next day, but a quick call by Meghada to her brother Ian had Micah beaming from ear to ear. Well, the offer of a personal direct flight in a private plane, right to wherever in Australia he wanted to go, even to stopping and picking up Jiem's sister and boy on the way if he wanted - what wasn't there to like? AND it meant he could enjoy a little more time with these men he'd shared so much with. Maybe even find out a little more about that 'rock solid deal' and whether Chief and Casino had ever opened their eyes to their own possibility of something similar.

Meghada stayed with them at the pub for a goodly spell, but there was 'man talk' to be talked, in addition to a great deal more beer to be drunk, she knew, both of which she had a limited appetite for, and she wasn't reluctant about saying her fond good nights. The visitors would either be brought back to the cottage to bunk down, or more likely, be stashed in the bedrooms above the pub to snore the remains of the night away. 

Her own lads would make it home whenever they made it home; she'd be waiting, perhaps asleep, but still waiting. This probably wasn't the right time to be delivering a proper thank you to Goniff for turning down that offer of a baby croc, but at least he deserved a good night kiss as a downpayment. She chuckled at the thought of what lay ahead, having seen those busy wheels turning in that blond head. {"Aye, and I've no doubts he'll be milking this for a good long time!"}

She knew the visitors thought they had changed a great deal, but she knew the changes weren't nearly as drastic as the others imagined. It was just that now, in the aftermath of the war, with their whole lives ahead of them, a future to build, they were finally free to be who they really were, free to become whoever they decided they wanted to be.

{"What was it Craig called it? A 'rock solid deal'. Yes, it's that, to be sure, and a great deal more. But Goniff was right - a little dog, a green-eyed cat, a Dragon, the guys - that's enough to expect him to deal with. Certainly no need to bring a croc into the mix. That just MIGHT be a deal-breaker - - - Well, probably not; he'd be up for the job - still, it is an awful lot to ask."}


End file.
